


These Wandering Stars

by KateC



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Third Person, Wild West
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateC/pseuds/KateC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically what would happen if Clarke was a gunslinger and she and Bellamy were on opposite sides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Wandering Stars

**Author's Note:**

> So, the story here:
> 
> I wrote this short story (and a companion from the male perspective) like 5 years ago because I had this weird idea for a way to make a western and fantasy combine. I released the both of them on the internet for free.
> 
> Then along came The 100 and I realized out of the blue one day (I got an email from someone asking when I was going to write another part to the series) that my main characters were TOTALLY Clarke and Bellamy. Like even their character descriptions were the same. And come on, if Clarke lived in the Wild West, she would TOTALLY be a vigilante gunslinger that travels around helping people.
> 
> So I decided to tweak a few things with my story and submit it as fanfic. All the character names have been changed to fit the story, a few sentences and story aspects were changed, and I moved it from first person to third person. It's pretty much canon, except that I have Jasper and Charlotte as siblings.
> 
> Also, and I hope this goes without saying, but this is totally a work of fiction and yunno, none of this stuff is meant to be offensive (religiously) and not a bit of it is biblically accurate or anything.
> 
> PS- I might be convinced to post the next part if people actually like the story. We'll see.

### These Wandering Stars (Pt. I)

 

“At least I have my gun this time,” she told herself, fingering the holster on her right hip.

Clarke was sitting on the desert floor, trying in vain to eke out some shade from the rock next to her. The gun couldn't get her food, water, or shelter, but it would protect her from any wildlife that might take an interest, not to mention the human predators that could make an appearance. The chances of the latter were slim, she had to admit. Clarke was hoping someone would show up and deliver her.

There was no telling how long she'd been out here in the middle of nowhere. Clarke had woken up with the headache from hell and the bump to show the reason. She cursed her gullibility. Every time a poor slob came to her with a story she fell for it—without fail. This wasn't the worst fix she'd ever been in, but it wasn't the easiest to escape by any means.

Clarke closed her eyes, for the hundredth time, sensing the terrain around her for life of any sort. It was a handy skill, being able to feel the souls within a certain radius. Up until now, she'd felt nothing but lizards, bugs, and the occasional rodent.

The sun, at that time of day, was beating down on her head with unforgiving rays. Unlike what anyone might imagine, angels did sweat. On earth they pissed, puked, bled, and slept, too. It was part of living outside the Heavenly Presence. Fallen angels, or demons, as many called them, had been living that way for thousands of years, ever since Lucifer and His Holiness had their tussle. Clarke had been stuck here a mere 50 years and the longer she was here the less she seemed to know about humans and their ways.

Clarke opened her eyes. There was a horse headed her way with two riders, both young, one male and one female. One horse wasn't enough for three, and even though she could tell they were humans, she could not tell if they were good or evil. Which was how she'd gotten into this predicament in the first place.

She sent a prayer heavenward that they would at least give her a drink of water and point her in the direction of the nearest town. Then she sat down to wait.

They were approaching at a sedate pace, so it was a heap more minutes before Clarke saw them on the horizon. She watched as their horse approached, and when it got close enough for them to notice her, she climbed up on the rock she'd been crouched behind and cursed her choice of head to toe black leather.

Her clothing was a vanity of ridiculous proportions considering she'd lived most of her time here on earth in the sandy desert climate she was now stranded in. Black was impractical: hot, easily showed dust, made it tough to be identified as an angel. On the other hand, if she saw one more angel dressed in white, she would shoot herself.

The horse slowed as it reached her. She peered up under the brim of her hat at the teenage boy sitting on the front of the horse and the little girl, holding the shotgun across her lap, who sat behind him.

“Howdy,” Clarke said, touching the brim in respect.

“Howdy,” he said, nodding.

“Got myself into a bit of a predicament,” she explained.

“That explains why you're sittin' out here on a rock in the middle of nowhere. What happened?”

Clarke hesitated. Before she exposed herself yet again to the kindness of strangers, she put out a feeler.

“I don't suppose you've got any water? I've been out here since morning and I've got a powerful thirst.”

He worked his water cask free and handed it to her. She took three careful swallows and handed it back.

“This morning I was in Hamilton when a group of people came into town looking for help. They told me there was a cattle rustler, come onto their ranch and stole 30 head, and they wanted someone to go with them to help retrieve their beasts.

“Being the gullible fool that I am, I joined up with them and we rode out near here. They stopped for a bit, supposedly to look for the tracks, when one of them sneaked up behind me, hit me over the head, and stole my horse.”

“Now that is a shame, but no offense, it could all be a big fat lie,” he said in a soft voice. He was wearing a hat himself, so it was hard to see his eyes. “How do we know your story is above-board?”

Clarke sighed and flashed him the silver ring on her right forefinger. It was the equivalent of a sheriff's badge, worn by every angelic agent. It was carved with a silver cross, given to her at the start of her assignment by Gabriel himself. Demons couldn't wear crosses—they burned like fire.

“Never saw a woman gunslinger before,” he said, looking down at her ring. “So I guess you're an angel too, huh?”

“Yes on both counts. Name's Clarke, what's yours?” she asked.

“My name is Jasper and this is my sister Charlotte,” he said. His sister nodded toward the other woman.

“Where are you all headed? Is the nearest town far from here? I wasn't sure where to go, to be honest.”

“Well, if you go back where we came from you'll be at our ranch, three days ride, near Reese River. We are headed to Keanesville, which according to the directions we were given, is about eight miles in the direction we're riding.

“We can't give you a ride, but you're welcome to walk alongside us and share our water skin, if you'd like.”

Clarke stood.

“I'd be glad to. One town is the same as the next when you've got nothing but your gun and the clothes on your back.”

“Why didn't they take your gun? Looks like a nice piece,” he commented as they walked.

“Not sure. The only thing I can think of is that they were afraid. I _am_ an angel. It's one thing to steal my horse, but to steal my gun is almost blasphemous. I don't know that there's many who would go that far.”

“Maybe so. I hate to speak ill of my own kind, but there's not much that I haven't seen.”

“You can't be more than sixteen! No offense intended, son, but I've been on this earth 50 years. As you can see, I'm still optimistic enough to believe in the good of humankind.”

He gasped when he heard how old she was. Truth be told, many said that she looked no more than twenty years old.

“So it's true then, your kind lives forever.”

Clarke shook her head, golden braid swinging.

“Not forever. Eternity is a long time. Here on earth, I'm as close to mortal as I'll ever be. I can even die, if killed by one of my own.”

“Or a demon, yes?”

“Believe it or not, we don't like to talk about it, but demons and angels are variants of the same thing. One good and one bad—which is which depends on the viewpoint of the teller. I will say, I work for the Higher Power and demons, well, they work for Lucifer himself.”

“Hmph. Well, fifty years or not, I seen enough to curl your hair. You ain't asked me why my sister and I are riding through the desert on a single horse.”

“I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would,” she replied.

“Well, I'd be pleased to tell you. Maybe you could even help us out,” he said.

The sun battered and bruised her. Clarke was happy to have anything to put her mind to while they traveled and she told him as much.

“Well, 'bout three weeks back a man came to our ranch. Asked to see my pa. We brought him round to the pen and he went on some speech about how he was acquiring land around the ranch. Wanted to buy up ours and make his collection complete. My pa said no and he went away.

“Came back a week later. Asked again, would we sell our place. Again, my pa said no. The man came back, one more time, with big men. Said, you better sell your place this time. Pa pulled his shotgun and ordered him off our land. The man left.

“Three nights ago the man came back with a bunch of men. Killed my pa. Burned our barn, our pens, our house. Killed every head of cattle we owned. Still don't know why he didn't kill me or my sister. Got the sweetest 300 acres of river land in these parts. We were left with nothing but a few coins my dad had buried, our horse, and our shotgun.”

It was a horrible story. Clarke didn't want to ask the next question, but she did anyway, with no little trepidation.

“You think he was a demon?” she asked.

“I have my suspicions,” he said.

She hesitated, dreading the answer, but she needed to know.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“I don't know if he was lyin' or not, but he called himself Murphy.”

Clarke exhaled, a quick breath that let go of the tension in her stomach.

“Well, if he was a demon, it ain't gonna do you a lot of good. You can't kill a demon, son.”

“I guess I know that now, thanks to you, but what am I supposed to do? He killed my pa. He's got to pay.”

“I can't guarantee you'll find this Murphy, but how 'bout I help you? If he's a demon, I can take care of him, and if he's not, then I know people who can track him down. Murder is against the law, and the man is a criminal,” she said.

She studied the boy as they walked, taking in his lanky form. His face was long, his nose as well, ears sticking out under his hat. His eyes and his sister's were the same shade of gray, though her face was round where his was thin. Both siblings had the same light brown hair, though hers was pulled into two braids that framed her shoulders. They looked well fed, but tired.

They didn't speak for the rest of the way to Keanesville. It was long about sunset when we arrived. She turned to the two.

“Do either of you have a place to stay?” Clarke wondered.

Jasper shook his head.

“We have a place in every town. I can't guarantee it will be the best place to hang your hat, but it'll be clean and warm,” She explained.

They ambled into town, careful to keep a watch out, but near sunset, everyone was making their way home for supper. Any agent would go directly to the chapel, and that is where Clarke went. She didn't expect a reverend, but she did look for a sign—and found it.

“All agents apply to Cooney Hotel on State Street,” it read.

“Come on, Jas, let's head over and get us a room,” she said.

~~~~~

“How can I help you?” said the man behind the counter.

We stood in the lobby of a generic hotel. There was a clock in the corner and three stiff looking chairs for waiting, which is where Jasper and Charlotte sat, hoping that Clarke could get them a room for the night.

“The sign on the church said I could find a room here,” Clarke said, flashing her ring.

He examined it closely, then smiled.

“I'd be happy to get a room for you, Ma'am,” he assured her.

“If it's not too much trouble, sir, could you get a room for my friends, too?” she asked. “I was beaten and robbed a ways back and they took care of me.”

He considered her for a moment.

“I think we could find something for them, as well. Parson Jaha usually leaves the parish for the chapel around 9 o'clock in the morning. Since you've had your supplies and I assume your horse taken, he'll have things for you. So you can continue on in your work,” he said. Holding out the ledger for her to sign, he handed Clarke the pen and waited while she wrote her name. Then he handed her two keys.

“The dining hall is still open, if you want some vittles. The hotel will treat, tonight, and you can pay us when you meet up with the parson.” He pointed to the door at the end of the hall. “Your rooms are upstairs.”

“I have one more question for you, if you have the time. I'm looking for a rancher named Murphy. Have you heard of him?”

The man's face went as white as a sheet. If Clarke were to guess, she'd say he'd heard of the man.

“You should ask the parson about him. People 'round here don't talk about him much,” he said.

That was all he said, and she understood then it was all he was going to say.

Clarke motioned to her new acquaintances, and they walked into the dining room and took a table.

“We'll take three of the special,” she ordered, and the woman left for the kitchen.

She turned back to the kids.

“We need to come up with a plan. I inquired about Murphy, and seems like, from the clerk's response, he's pretty well known in these parts. He said I should talk to Pastor Jaha tomorrow.

“I have to tell you, I've got a bad feeling about this. If everyone in town feels the same way about this Murphy fellow, it's going to be almost impossible to find allies to help take him down. Maybe we'll be lucky and find some others that he's wronged. If not, we call in some agents—I think I saw a telegraph office.

“The most important thing is, don't try and take care of this yourself. Not until I've established how powerful he is and how far his arm can reach. The last thing your father would want is for his two children to get killed after they so miraculously survived.”

“We ain't asking anyone for help, we don't need help. If you can't get us what we need, we'll take care of this ourselves,” Jasper said.

Clarke cursed his stubbornness. Fool kid seemed to want to get himself killed.

“Look at me, kid. Don't do anything stupid. I can get you Murphy, if you just wait a darned minute,” she argued.

“Well, we'll see about that, Ma'am. I can wait awhile, but Murphy has got to pay, one way or another. That is the only promise I'll make.”

She sent a prayer, skyward, hoping that the Boss would send some serendipity her way, so these kids didn't have to die.

~~~~~

Clarke was bone weary by the time she dragged herself up to her room. She'd left the kids at their door with a terse goodnight and fumbled her key in the lock. Then she sat on the bed—collapsed rather. It had been a long day, full of walking and baking in the heat.

She had just laid her head on the pillow, clothes still on, over the covers, when the Clarke heard a knock at the door. She ignored it, hoping it would go away, that whoever it was would leave her alone. The knock became more insistent, so sighing, she heaved herself up off the bed.

She cracked the door and when she opened it to peer on the other side, Clarke gasped.

“Bell?” she asked, and threw open the door.

“Clarke,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

She'd gone months without seeing him—three months—and kissing him reminded her of how much she hated being apart from him.

His lips played with hers, fiercely, demanding, and all that she remembered. Kissing Bellamy was like eating a meal after a long fast or drinking water after a long day dry in the desert. Clarke let him push her into the room and shut the door with a firm shove.

He unbuttoned the buttons on her tight black leather vest, then unfastened each button on her blouse from her collar bone to her belly button. Bellamy took a moment from kissing her to stare down at her throat and the tops of her breasts peeking above the corset.

By this time, Clarke had pulled the tie from his neck and yanked off his vest and red checked shirt. They pressed together again, skin to skin, while he worked at the lacing of her corset before lifting it over her head.

Clarke let her eyes half close as his warm mouth pressed against her throat, down her shoulder and then gasped as his lips met with his hand at her breast. She sighed, head hanging, as he reacquainted himself with her body. The light was dimming in the room, and it was harder to see him, but it brought her focus to the moment at hand, and Clarke reveled in the sensations.

An angel making love is a glorious thing, the power of it would cause mortals to shake in their boots. Clarke felt lit up from the inside, her skin and face hot and flushed. After she had slipped off her boots and he had removed his, they fell into the creaky bed, limbs entwined, wriggling out of the rest of their clothing. They spent the remainder of the night caught up in the pleasure and relief of being together after such a long separation.

It would have been so much easier—Clarke couldn't help thinking at one point—if she and Bellamy worked for the same side.

~~~~~

There was a history with Bellamy and Clarke and heavenly politics.

Bellamy and Clarke were both angels in heaven, living out eternity by worshiping the Holy of Holies. Everything was going well, Lucifer was the Supreme One, God's best buddy and all that, until God got himself a new project. Some say that Lucifer was jealous because of all the attention God was giving his soon to be created world, but Clarke knew the truth, because she had been there.

God always got excited when He was ready to start on another galaxy, but He had been especially eager about that one. The hours He spent on it were ridiculous. He'd set Himself up a model of it and moved the pieces around to consider exactly how He wanted it all to fit together.

“I think I should add more water,” He'd say one day.

“We should make the inhabitants look like us,” He'd say another.

It was like He thought that everything He'd ever made before was wrong and he was going to do it correctly this time around. Which was all well and good, until Lucifer had had enough.

“You talk all the time about how much your new creations will love and worship you, and yet, you do not give them a choice in the matter,” he said to God one day.

God's brows furrowed and he looked at Lucifer.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“These humans as you call them, would always love you, no matter what. It's not as if you presented them with a choice, saying, 'Do you choose to love me or reject me?' There is no risk of rebuttal for you, therefore there is also no satisfaction.”

“But I will love them unconditionally, why should I not expect the same from them?”

“You are God. You can make anything. You understand the ins and outs of the universe and all its infinite qualities. These are limited beings with no forethought. If it wasn't for you, they probably wouldn't understand how to eat and breathe, either.”

The discussion quickly turned into an argument, with both sides refusing to give. Lucifer had never dared argue with Him before, so the sting was double for God. Finally, He acceded Lucifer his point.

“You want them to have free will? You want them to have a choice whether to love me or not? That's fine. I can do that. If I do, someone will have to be there to show them they have a choice. Someone will have to offer them the evil with the good.

“Go, be the ambassador for choice. Take your friends with you. You think your goal is noble, but I tell you truly, you will over time be twisted and warped by the evil you must represent. The thing you abhor will be what you love and you will never be my intimate again.”

Lucifer left with the thousands of angels who had taken his side. For a time, it seemed like he had the right of it. Humans did have a choice in who to love and when they chose God, it was more precious to Him than it might have been otherwise.

God was also right. Over time, Lucifer and his cronies became warped and ugly, reveling in each soul who chose not to follow, for it proved, again, that Lucifer had a point when he challenged God.

In the middle of all of this were Bellamy and Clarke. They were best friends in heaven. They sang all the praise songs together, talked about everything, spent endless time in each other's company.

When Lucifer and God had their big rumpus, Bellamy and Clarke became divided, each convinced that the other side was wrong. Clarke chose God's side and Bellamy chose Lucifer's, and when Lucifer left, so did he.

It's hard to be sad in God's presence, but Clarke had missed her friend almost to the point of agony. She applied again and again to be an agent on Earth, but her requests were denied. The hosts of heaven had decided that she was at risk for joining Lucifer, considering her closeness with Bellamy.

Many thousands of years passed and the argument between God and Lucifer turned into an outright rivalry. Examples: Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Job and Jesus. Somewhere along the line, Clarke was finally permitted to join the other angelic agents on earth.

~~~~~

Clarke traveled where she was ordered to, always keeping a watch for her friend. It wasn't until she arrived in the Wild West that she found him.

Riding through a one-horse town looking for a store where she could pick up some supplies before moving on, Clarke spotted a tall figure, standing next to a horse that was tethered in front of the town's lone saloon.

How she recognized him after thousands of years of separation she had no idea, but the only thing she could point to was the almost infinite amount of time they'd spent together before that.

He stood in a casual stance, hand on his hip, watching her ride. His hat hung low over his eyes hiding the freckles that scattered across his face, but she could still see the curling strands of his black hair over his ears and neck. His figure had always been lean, but there was a new hardness to his jaw, shoulders, and arms.

In her 40 years on Earth, Clarke had learned how human-like her emotions could be and she felt them now, her pounding heart and nervous stomach.

Clarke slid down from her horse and walked over to him.

“Bellamy—” she started to say, when he grabbed her arm.

“Get on your horse, quick. There are others here,” he said, mounting up.

He looked around him, before urging his horse to a trot through a back alley. She followed him through town and out into the surrounding country. They rode for over an hour, without speaking or encountering another person.

Finally, he pulled up on his horse's reigns and slid off his saddle. Clarke did the same and he held her by the shoulders, an arm's length away, staring at her for several long moments.

“Clarke,” he said. “I've waited so long.”

Then he pulled her into his chest, as he had done so many times, in a brotherly hug. But Clarke's body didn't respond as it had before. In heaven, a hug is just a hug, a kiss is just a kiss. On earth, when his arms encircled her, Clarke felt an urgent need to hold him with her own arms.

“Bellamy,” she said, brow wrinkling. “I feel strange.”

She slid her arms up his back and over his shoulders, caressing, then up to his face, where she palmed his cheeks.

He leaned his head forward, till his forehead rested against hers. His arms were still around her, but at Clarke's confession, they tightened, pulling her closer to his chest.

“Clarke. I can't tell you how many times I wished I could see you. I've had no one to talk to here. God was right, Lucifer and the others—with few exceptions—have become evil. I can't go back to heaven, God was clear about that, so I hoped, that like some of the others, you'd end up here.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek, but Clarke knew it wasn't what she wanted. With an instinct only mortals can understand, she turned her face so his lips met hers. Immediately, she knew that was what she needed.

He hesitated, holding himself back, then kissed her with a passion so fiery that she felt like she'd burst into flames for a moment.

She'd never kissed anyone like that before, so she wasn't sure what to do, but her lips sure seemed to know. They met his with the same force, then her mouth opened in a small gasp to catch her breath and his tongue slipped inside. Clarke liked that even more and returned stroke for stroke, giving and taking in a dance that humans had perfected long ago, but she was still learning minute by minute.

Bellamy pulled back, suddenly, breathing loud and harsh.

“Clarke, I know what this is. I don't think—I don't think you want to go down this road,” he said.

“Bellamy,” Clarke whimpered, pulling him back down for another kiss, but he was immovable.

“Clarke, I want to, believe me. I want everything that you are unconsciously offering, but this is neither the time or place. We need to travel on further, find a somewhere we can be anonymous and talk. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

Clarke was disappointed and not sure why, but she got back on her horse and traveled with him until they reached the next town over, which was considerably larger than the last. It was late, but the hotel was still open and after stabling their horses at the livery next door, they made their way up to the room he'd paid for.

She was eager to begin where they'd left off, but after taking her coat, vest, and boots off, as well as his own, Bellamy sat Clarke on one side of the bed and himself on the other. He wouldn't let her near him until they'd talked about everything that had happened since they'd been separated.

Bellamy was right, he'd led a lonely existence on Earth. While Clarke had been celebrating and mingling with the heavenly high-ups, he'd been a wanderer, existing more and more as outsider among his own. While he still believed in the principle of free will, he abhorred Lucifer's descent into unrighteousness. This led to a falling out between he and Lucifer—he hadn't seen that fellow for more than a thousand years.

Bellamy couldn't return to heaven, as Lucifer and all his cronies had been banished, so in the technical sense, he was still a demon, bound by the laws of his kind. He followed them when necessary and tried not to let himself become twisted by their insidious doctrine.

He slumped against the headboard of the bed.

“It's hard, my life. There are a few of us, who have realized the error of our ways, but there is no recourse for us. We continue on, with Lucifer's former ideals, and try to stay out of his way.”

Bellamy closed his eyes then, and for a moment she thought he had fallen asleep. They'd been up for hours, it was now early in the morning, though still dark. Clarke pulled back the covers, feeling like herself again.

“Here,” she said. “We can talk more after you've had some rest.”

He slid down beneath them, then reached for Clarke, holding her close to him, arms around her waist. He kissed the back of her head.

“I'm never letting you go again,” he said, and fell asleep.

She woke to the feeling of his fingers stroking her hair. Clarke turned over and saw him, up on an elbow, looking down at her.

“Your hair didn't seem this pretty in heaven,” he said. “I swear, it looks like pure gold here.”

His head was a mass of dark curls, his brown eyes looked like the endless desert. The smile spreading across his face required hers in reply.

“You seem better this morning,” Clarke commented.

“Confession is good for the soul and all that,” he said. “Clarke, I meant what I said yesterday. It might be best if we part again, for a while, just to get this out of our systems.”

Clarke was confused again.

“Get what out of our systems?” she asked.

“This,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. When she tasted his lips again, Clarke knew what he was talking about—wanted much more of it, whatever it was. She slid her hand up around his shoulder and pulled him down on top of her. That was when he pulled back and perched his head up on his hand again. She sat up, irritated.

“Why did you start it, if you didn't mean to go on?” Clarke asked.

“Remember that thing God made for Adam and Eve, so they could procreate and multiply?” he asked.

She frowned.

“Vaguely,” she mumbled.

“Kissing is the first step towards that,” he said. “Mortals here kiss when they want to take off all their clothes, and lie with another person. They do it to make babies, but also because it feels good. It's a way to become more intimate with someone. Now that you're here and I'm here, and because I'm a man and you're a woman, we both feel that same need when we are in close proximity.

“I'm offering you a choice, Clarke. I would like to become more intimate with you, but you should understand that what you want to give me.

“It means something, Clarke. It will bond us beyond what we've experienced so far. Realize that.”

Clarke was silent for a moment, considering Bellamy's words. She had missed him, even more so when she was on earth and couldn't find him for all those years. She thought about her excitement and relief when she found him, there on the street. She remembered the feelings she'd had when they were out in the countryside, alone, embracing, lips meeting.

She unbuttoned her blouse, pulled it from her pants, and shrugged it from her shoulders.

“I want this, Bellamy. I want to be with you in every way possible.”

She threw her shirt to the floor and watched Bellamy strip out of his vest and shirt until he was bare chested. The sight of his skin made Clarke feel how she had before, when she knew that she wanted to be closer to him. She turned to face away from him, lifting her messy blonde braid to expose her back.

“Can you unlace me?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding deeper then before.

Clarke shivered, feeling his fingers on her bare skin. He finished, and helped her lift the corset over her head. Then she felt him pull her hair from its braid until it fell freely down her back. Running his fingers through the waves, he lifted the strands to kiss her shoulder, then neck. She tried to turn around, but his hands held my shoulders, while he nibbled on my ear.

“I love you, Clarke,” he said, nuzzling the place where her hair met her neck.

“Bellamy,” she said, turning her neck with a gasp. “Please, let me hold you.”

He faced her toward him and circled her with his arms. They kissed again, mouths dancing the steps that she'd learned the day before, tongues mingling, breaths combining.

Her hands traced the lines of his chest, and she pulled away to rub her face on his skin.

“You smell nice,” Clarke murmured.

“I smell unwashed,” he said, laughing. “You, on the other hand, are delicious.”

She kissed her way back up from his chest to his chin. He moaned and she looked at him.

“Does it hurt?” she wondered.

“No, let me show you,” he said, and laid her down on the bed.

He started at her belly and kissed a soft trail between her breasts, up to her collar bone, then back to her mouth. At this point, Clarke was writhing on the bed.

“Bellamy, please,” she begged. “I want more.”

He gave her more, helping her remove the rest of her clothes and his own, kissing every part of her body. Their bodies grew warmer and warmer until they had tossed aside the coverings and he was moving on top of her.

Looking down, he hesitated.

“I've never done this before,” he said. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Shhh...” Clarke hushed him, reaching up to pull him down on top of her.

It didn't hurt, not a bit. Instead it was the most wonderful feeling of friction and urgency. Clarke felt complete in a way she hadn't before, with him inside of her, his weight pressing down on her. Her arms and legs wrapped around him, encouraging him onward as her breath came in moans with every thrust.

Something was building and she could tell from his face that he felt it, too. Just as Clarke was reaching the cusp of whatever she was racing toward, Bellamy threw back his head and cried out. They sailed away together on flowing waves of pleasure and when the climax ended they stared at each other with shocked eyes.

Something had changed between them, forever.

~~~~~

When she woke up, so many years later, Bellamy was gone, but he'd left her a note that read, _I love you, Clarke._

She groaned, still sore from her long walk with the kids. She needed a good meal, then she had to go see the parson and fetch the items he had for her.

She couldn't say Jaha was happy to see her.

“I hear you're on the lookout for Murphy,” he said.

“Some kids that helped me are looking for him, I'm just trying to make sure they're not headed directly into danger.”

“Ma'am, with all due respect, Murphy is a demon. He is danger. You don't want to mess with him or his crowd.”

“I appreciate the warning, sir. Knowing he's a demon is half the battle. Where can he be found?”

He handed her a set of new saddle bags, a canteen, a bed roll, and a small satchel with money in it.

“He owns a whore house down the street. There is a small office located in the back where he spends his days, supposedly counting his money.

“Miss Clarke, Ma'am, I urge you not to mess with this man. He is a snake,” said Pastor Jaha.

“Believe me, I would like to leave him alone, but my job dictates I must help when I come across a wronged individual. Murphy killed their pa and burned their ranch to the ground. Murder is against the law,” Clarke told him.

He shook his head. “This is a fool's errand,” he said.

“A fool's errand it may be, but I've killed demon's before, and if I need to, I'll do it again,” Clarke said, caressing the Colt at her hip.

“Those who live by the sword, die by it,” the parson said, but he mentioned no more about Murphy, only directed her to the livery where she could pick up one of the mounts kept for agents in need.

Clarke was forming a plan. She would pack up her mount and tell the kids to let her feel out Murphy before they decided on a plan of action. And when she was sure she could get rid of him, without their interference, Clarke would kill him, and head out of town.

So that is what she did. She found the kids in their room, waiting for her. Jasper stood as she entered.

“What'd you find out?” he asked.

“Murphy is a demon,” she replied.

He sat down again, and Charlotte scooted over the bed to sit next to her brother.

“He owns the whore house downtown,” Clarke told them, not bothering to soften her words for these two children who were grown before their time.

“I'm going to head on over to his office and try to take him out myself, if I can. I'd rather keep you two out of this,” she said.

They exchanged a glance.

“We want to come, too,” Jasper said. “You might need help.”

She shook her head.

“No way, no how. I'm not going to be responsible for your deaths. I've got enough to worry about. You're good kids. You get out of this alive, and I'll try to use my connections to find you a place.”

“We want to come.”

“I'll say it again, Jas. The answer is no. Do not push me on this,” Clarke said, and left the room.

She didn't keep her gun loaded—even though there was ammo in her belt—but now she loaded each of the six chambers with a .44 round, and clicked the cylinder in place. Then she slid it back into her custom-made leather holster.

Clarke couldn't hope that she would escape without firing it, but she did hope she'd only have to use one of the bullets. The whole venture was moving along on a lick and a promise—there was no telling what would come of it.

She wandered down the street until she came to the whore house in question. It was a quieter town, so there were no girls hanging out the windows or lounging around the entrance. Also, it was still early in the day, around noon.

Walking through the door and into the parlor, Clarke noticed there were a few girls sitting around in their scanty hose and corsets, smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey. She couldn't blame them, as it was shaping up to be a hot day.

“What can we do for you, honey?” one of them asked. “Surely, you ain't looking for company?”

“I'm looking for Murphy,” Clarke announced. The room quieted. “He in his office?”

“He is, but you don't want to talk to him. He's a busy man.”

Clarke touched the gun she carried.

“We have business,” she said. “If you could just point me in the right direction, I'd be much obliged.”

“It's down the hall, last door on the left,” the woman told her.

As she left the room, she heard them whispering behind her.

Heart pounding, Clarke prayed a silent prayer for strength, then opened the door and went inside. She left it open behind her, as she might need a quick getaway.

The room was large and crammed with papers and boxes. There was a large desk in the middle of the room and a man with an annoying smirk sat behind it, with a guard standing on either side of him.

The guards drew their guns as she walked in and Murphy—she assumed it was—looked up from his papers. Clarke put her hands in the air, signaling her intentions of peace, even though she wasn't the least bit afraid of them.

His eyes snagged on her ring and he smiled.

“Put away your guns, boys, your bullets can't hurt her,” he said.

“You're Murphy?” she asked.

“I warn you, angel, if you're here to kill me, you're wasting your time.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if you try, I'll have my men shoot those kids behind you.”

Clarke whipped her head around and saw the two kids standing behind her, Jasper holding his shotgun as though it had the magic power to save him.

“What in the hell are you fool kids doing?” She demanded, hands on her hips. What was supposed to be a simple assassination was now turning into a complicated maneuver.

“We want our money,” Jas said, looking at Murphy.

“Excuse me?” Clarke said, feeling lost.

Murphy shook his head. “I don't owe you anything, kid.”

“You said if we was to kill our pa, you'd pay us 20 pieces of gold. We killed him and burned down the ranch. We did everything you wanted. We want our money. Now fork it over.”

“And yet I have no deed,” Murphy said, setting down his pen.

“We brung it,” said Jasper, digging into his pocket. He set it on the desk in front of Murphy while Clarke silently cursed him.

The boy was a durned fool if he thought he could make a bargain with a demon. He was going to get himself killed for sure.

Murphy smiled again, a smug thing that scared Clarke through and through. It was clear he was prepared to get his land by hook or by crook.

“Well, now. I've got me a deed, I've got me a ranch. All I need now is for these two to disappear,” he said, nodding.

“No!” Clarke screamed, and threw herself in front of the kids, as the guards raised their guns again and shot her full of lead.

It hurt like hell and Clarke saw that she was now bleeding in a dozen places, but it would be some time before she felt the full effects of her injuries.

The guards, now empty of ammo, looked at their boss, confused as to how to go on.

“Give them their money,” Clarke said through clenched teeth.

Murphy stared at her.

“Who are you, woman?” he asked. “What gives you the right to make demands on me?”

“My name is Clarke. You made a bargain, and you must keep it. That's what gives me the right,” she said.

“Clarke? Where have I heard that name before?” he asked, and her stomach clenched. She had never asked Bellamy why he'd been in town.

“Didn't that fellow Bellamy mention a woman named Clarke?” he said, musing. Meanwhile, her blood was dripping on the floor.

“He did. He said he was looking—no!” Murphy gasped, and she felt cold chills. “It's not possible. An angel and a d—”

His voice was cut off as the bullet from her gun hit him in the throat. He sat, gurgling and clutching at it, until moments later, when he died.

Demons don't die pretty. They seem to melt from the inside until they turn into a pile of steaming ash.

Clarke ignored this and faced one of the guards, sliding her gun back into its holster.

“Give them the money your boss agreed to,” she ordered.

“Why should I? You can't shoot me, the boss told me.”

“Oh, really? Did he tell you I could kill him? Or did he give you some malarkey about being immortal? In case you haven't noticed, your former boss was a liar.

“Now give them the money before I decide to take out my gun again. As you can see, I'm a crack shot.”

She waited for him to get the money out of the safe and hand it to the kids. Then she grabbed their deed and shoved them ahead of her until they were out of the building.

“Our pa were a mean drunk, Miss Clarke, he deserved what he got,” said Charlotte.

“Whether he deserved it or not, it's not your job to mete out punishments. Especially in return for money.

“I can't even look at the two of you. Get yourselves out of town and be quick about it. Everyone in a ten mile radius is going to know about that gold.”

“We're going to California, to start up a stake. Good luck with your travels, Ma'am,” he said, and they turned to go.

Clarke was starting to feel a bit weak. She needed to get out of town and tend her wounds.

She made her way to the livery and picked up her horse. Then she took the road to the north out of town. California was an appealing thought, she could use a change.

It was harder and harder to stay upright on her horse and Clarke was feeling dizzy. Her wounds needed to be assessed before she blacked out and was unable to heal herself. She couldn't die, but she could be paralyzed or comatose.

Halting the horse, she slid down, looking through her supplies for some bandages and maybe something to pry these bullets out so the holes could close over.

Clarke swayed on her feet and tried to regain her balance. Failing miserably, she collapsed, unable to move except to shiver and stare up at the sky above, at the stars that wandered.

She heard hoof beats coming closer and prayed to heaven above it was a friendly face. Footsteps approached her and she saw Bellamy looking down, shaking his head.

“Clarke, Clarke, what have you gotten yourself into?” he asked, reaching down to pick her up in his arms.

She hid her face in his neck.

“Put myself in the way of some bullets meant for the kids I was helping. Knew they wouldn't kill me,” Clarke explained.

“Well, they damn well came close,” he said and leaned her against a rock.

Bellamy led the horses over to her and looked through his saddle bags. He brought over a blanket and laid out some bandage rolls, a bottle of whiskey, and a knife to dig out the bullets.

First, he stripped off her vest, then her shirt and cut off the corset. It felt strange to be bare to the world, but no one was around but them, and she was concentrating on the pain that throbbed through her body.

He picked out each of the bullets, washed them with the alcohol, then buttoned her shirt. He pulled down her pants and took out the two bullets in her upper thigh. Clarke gave a strangled yelp when the alcohol hit them, but now that the metal was gone, she could feel herself healing.

“Perhaps we'd better camp for the night,” he said, sitting next to her. “I need to keep an eye on you.”

“How did you find me?”

“I've been following you around town like a shadow since I left you this morning, in case you needed some help,” he said.

“I was going to California,” Clarke said, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“By heading north?” he asked, stroking her hair.

“I was thinking I'd take the railroad down to Sacramento,” she mumbled, dozing off.

“Would you like some company?” he asked.

“What?” she exclaimed, shaking out of her stupor.

“I said, would you like some company?” he asked again.

“You'll come with me?” Clarke said, now alert and hopeful.

“I'd like to. I talked to Murphy in town and it seems that Lucifer doesn't care what happens to me at this point, so I'm thinking I'll go rogue.”

“Bellamy, you can't ask about me. You can't talk about me. If anyone knew we were together, it could mean the end of us both. I had to kill Murphy—he figured it out.”

“I just told you. No one is looking for me, Clarke.”

“Murphy is a liar. How can you believe anything he says?” she argued.

He sighed. “I'm tired of being apart from you, Clarke. I don't want to be separated any more. Let's go out to California and try to start a new life.”

She was too tired to argue, so instead, she laid her head on his shoulder and let herself fall asleep, not caring where she ended up or how, as long as she could spend every night and every day near his side.

 

 


End file.
